


The 28

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Puns, Fluff and Angst, Hangover, Humor, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 28 prompts, most a single word.</p><p>Written spring 2008.  Tags and characters updated as prompts are posted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naughty

With his legs tangled as they were, Jazz knew that he had no way of escaping quickly.  The Decepticons knew it as well, and they thought that with the mechfluid in his systems revolting against the position he was in, namely upside-down, his visor would be fritzing, making it nearly impossible for him to shoot them.

Jazz _defined_ nearly impossible. He also was an expert shot ... from any angle. The Decepticons soon littered the alley below, only one left alive ... barely.

Looking down at his feet, Jazz traced the lengths of cable and saw which were holding him up, then carefully shot them until he was depending at a controlled rate. Once he could touch the ground, hold his weight on a hand, he shot the last cable and came free. He got to his feet and strode over to the living Decepticon, nothing in his posture or stride revealing how much it hurt to walk, or how dizzy he was.

He got the mech's attention by lightly tapping the edge of his damage with a finger. The mech groaned and his optics flickered on, focusing after a few moments. He drew back, gave a quiet moan, and didn't struggle as Jazz lifted him and moved him over to the nearest wall, propping him up so that the pressure was as heavy as Jazz could get it on the mech's damage.

That done, he tapped his side again and grinned at him. He proposed, quietly, that he'd be asking questions and, if he liked the mech's answers, he'd turn off his pain receptors. If he didn't, he'd turn them back on. Or he'd repair the ones that were currently malfunctioning.

The mech was more than willing to talk.

There was a bit of give and take, as the mech got stronger from his pain receptors being off, he began to give false answers. Jazz simply turned them back on again, his expression impassive.

Once there was no more information to give, Jazz presented the mech with an option, once again. He could leave him there, or even take him to the edge of 'Con territory, for his pals to find. His pals would probably interrogate him worse than Jazz had, to find out what he'd told the agent. Or, quick and clean. A gunshot to the spark-case.

The mech went silent and Jazz tapped the side of his head to make sure he hadn't passed out. The Decepticon raised his head, looked up at the night sky, then reached out in an obviously excruciating movement and grabbed the barrel of Jazz's gun, guiding it to his own spark chamber in a wordless plea for release.

Jazz didn't hesitate. And he watched as the mech's freed spark rose up and disappeared into a crack that had appeared in the air, both crack and spark vanishing in a flash of light.

Sitting back against the opposite alley wall, Jazz unspaced a can of energon and raised it in a salute before drinking it down. Part of him wanted to shrug and mutter about there being one less 'Con in the 'verse to bother the Autobots. The rest of him nodded at the mech's sacrifice and was saddened that he couldn't get to know the mech better, in more peaceful times.


	2. Happy

"Wow."

"What?"

"Hm?" Jazz glanced up, his expression showing to be a satisfied and delighted grin. Skyfire was bending curiously, his scientist's nature compelling him to find out exactly what the agent was doing so late at night, alone at his table. Jazz smiled. "Here," he replied, pulling a chair around with his foot, "take a seat, I'll show you."

Soon, he was sitting back, his smile satisfied as Skyfire was puzzling out the pad he had just completed. "What about--?" He asked, glancing up. Jazz nodded, seeing where the large jet was going with his statement.

"Exactly, you've got it."

"This is...incredible. How did you find it?"

"Here an' there," Jazz replied, lifting his energon with a relaxed smile. "Look," he said, unable to resist. "Here, an' here, too."

"Wow," Skyfire breathed, "I can't believe--"

"I know, crazy, ain't it?"

"Can I keep this?" Skyfire asked about a half an hour later.

"Sure," Jazz replied, "I've got another copy somewhere."

"Thanks," Skyfire said, returning the black and white's peaceful smile. "Things like this...make it all worth it."

"I know," Jazz sighed softly, standing. "I gotta get some 'charge. You take care, alright?"

"Always," Skyfire murmured, once again absorbed in the pad.


	3. Silly

Rain pelted the Ark in relentless torrents, pouring down from pitch-black clouds with no end in sight. Hound loved it. The rest of the Autobots were ... less than thrilled.

However, there was morale to think of, so the morale officer had figured out a way to keep everyone from self-destructing from boredom. Particularly since Optimus had banned engex.

Currently, nearly all of the Autobots were gathered in the lounge, many holding pads with numbers on them, others just enjoying the spectacle. After all, it wasn't every day that you got to watch the third in command contorting himself into strange positions in an attempt to encourage a video game car to go faster.

There were eight controllers, eight cars on the wall-sized screen and a multitude watching, cheering, and betting, on who would win.

Even Prowl had to admit, though reluctantly, it was effective. And Jazz had everyone laughing at his antics, from moping around when he lost to his incredibly silly victory dances.

Insane though the idea had sounded that morning, Prowl was glad he had let Jazz have his way now.

Particularly as his car passed Jazz's and he won the race.


	4. Angst

Even now, the beauty of the place touched the Porsche deeply...radiant feathers of pink and orange were snaking across the sky, backed by the deepest purple one could imagine. The heavens seemed rent by bloody claw marks of scarlet in other places and in still others, it was simply deepest blue with tiny diamond-pinpricks of light.

The wind was cold against his chassis but he relished it; it was a dose of reality in an all-too surreal world.

If the others in the caravan knew what he was thinking right now, they'd probably either stall in shock, or outright mutiny. After all, Jazz didn't get depressed. He was happy, boisterous, gregarious, all the time.

He had to be; he was morale officer. He was the shoulder to lean on, the friendly face, the one who gave out soft words of encouragement or helped a mech to smile when they were otherwise feeling down.

At the moment, however, he was tagging along at the end of the convoy, a good space between himself and the mech in front of him. Humming lowly to himself, he gazed at the sunset and wallowed, deep in his own memories, and in his own misery.

"Hey."

The voice startled him almost to swerving. He looked over and gave a mental smile.

"Hey yourself. Anyone ever tell you hay was for herbivores?"

"You, a couple of times. What's wrong?"

Jazz gave a soft sigh, not even thinking about the question bing asked of him. "Guess I'm feelin' a bit over-burdened, that's all."

"Mech like you? It happens. Don't worry about it. Have you seen the sunset?"

"I've been starin' at it all drive," Jazz replied with a soft chuckle. "I wish it'd rain. Wash all these cares away."

"So go stand under a waterfall."

Jazz burst out laughing and didn't stop until he was gasping for air. Still chortling, he swerved over and gave Hound a gentle tap with a door. "Thanks, pal. I needed that."

"Hey," Hound replied, a soft smile in his voice, "no problem. After all...as I read in a book the other day, who heals the healer?"

"I ain't a healer," Jazz scoffed, "but I know what you mean. An' thanks. You're a good friend."


	5. On Vacation (pts 1 and 2)

It was like a little mini-vacation he could take whenever he wanted. The others had always shaken their heads over his love of music, but this was how he relaxed. This was how he kept his sanity, doing things that the other Autobots would never even consider. Currently, he was annoyed and more than a bit frustrated; there was an information leak in the Ark and it was driving Red Alert mad. Not only was it driving Red mad, it had the consequence that Jazz was stuck at the base.

Prowl wasn't about to risk the Decepticons knowing he was coming. His missions were dangerous enough as it was.

The first few days, he'd paced. The next week he'd helped Red, until the security mech got sick of him and threw him out. The week after that he wondered if this wasn't all just a plot by someone (the twins, and then Starscream sprang to mind) to drive him insane. Prowl took pity on him for a while and tried to assign him more interesting duty, but after his third patrol of getting jumped, he found himself confined to the Ark once again.

So ... music. He knew mechs were staring, but he didn't care. He was distracting himself, and that's all that mattered.  Besides, this was fun.

Even if no one else understood why it would be. After all ... organizing wasn't really Jazz's thing. However, this wasn't just any organizing job. No ... right now?  He was organizing his music collection. 

**

On vacation two:

**

"Oh, Shoopsy-poo!"

Wheeljack jerked his head up from his work. " _What_ did you call me?"  Jazz was standing there, grinning.  Wheeljack sighed and put his tools down carefully. "Why don't you use names like a sane mech?"

"Dude, I called your name like five times," the black and white replied. "I had t'get your attention somehow. You know you been in here for a month?"

"I-- what? No I haven't. A few days at the most. C'mon, Jazz, you gotta be faster than that to put one over on me--"

"Check your chronometer," Jazz replied, with that smirk still hovering about his faceplate. Wheeljack did and started. "Uh huh. So. C'mon. We're goin' _out_."

"I've got projects, some of which are very fragile--"

"Yeah, an' Percy's gonna be by in a bit t'make sure they don't cause the mountain to erupt. Up!"

"Jazz, I can't, I have to finish--"

"Up!" Jazz said again, firmly, taking a hold of Wheeljack's chair and making as if to forcibly dump him out of it. "You're exiled from the Ark for two weeks."

Wheeljack stood, if only to keep from getting dumped on the floor. "How do you know I've been in here for a month anyway?" He asked.

"'Cause I was sidelined by a virus," Jazz replied, "so _I've_ been here the last month. An' I checked the security tapes too."

"You _were_ bored, weren't you?" Wheeljack asked dryly. Jazz marched him out into the hall, and even that much of a light difference caused Wheeljack to blink a few times as his optics were slow to adjust. Outside was worse, but better once he'd transformed. Which was an interesting feeling, because it felt like everything had to be reminded how to fold the right way.

And still, Jazz was right there with him. Wheeljack angled a tire in his direction, his air questioning. Jazz chuckled. "I've been kicked out, too. C'mon, let's go to New York. Make trouble there."

"...you sly created of a turborat," Wheeljack said with a laugh. "You just wanted company, didn't you?"

"Not really; you have been kicked out," Jazz replied, starting his engine up. "No reason, however, we can't have our vacations together."


	6. Horny

No one questioned his silence when he slipped into the med bay. Not seeing any external damage on his form and having no time to run a scan, Ratchet immediately put Jazz to work patching up those who simply had armor or some other kind of minor damage. Jazz worked without complaint, doing what was needed and pulling one of the few trained medics over for anything he found that was out of his level of knowledge. Blaster was the first to notice from where he was laying on a medical berth propped up against the wall, one hand on Steeljaw's back, the other curled protectively around Eject.

"Hey mech," he said softly when Jazz neared, "where're those silver tones of yours?"

The Porsche merely smiled, stepping silently over to hover a hand over Eject's back. The cassette didn't move and Jazz frowned, his expression asking the host if he needed one of the medics.

"Naw," Blaster sighed, just about as good at reading body posture as Jazz was. "First Aid's already seen 'im. He's just rechargin', which's what he needs."

Still, Jazz's expression didn't clear. He knew how much it effected Blaster when one of his cassettes was damaged. He moved his hand to tap one finger very lightly on Blaster's chest.

"We're fine," the host assured with a smile. "Go help someone who needs it."

Jazz nodded and moved on, watching as everyone save those Ratchet wanted to keep an optic on made their way slowly from the med bay. He stayed.

"Go home," Ratchet sighed, scrubbing his hands clean. "Thanks for the help...you really made the difference." Jazz watched, then beeped his horn softly, causing Ratchet to lift his head with a frown. "What's wrong with you?" He demanded, "I'm too tired t'deal with any of your games!"

Jazz simply beeped quietly again, pointing to his throat.

Ratchet buried his face in his palm. "You shoulda said somethin' earlier, before I got so processor fried."

The Porsche gave the Nissan Onebox a look and honked his horn again, somehow managing to add a derisive tone to the nose. The medic stopped short, then groaned.

"You're right, you're right." He smirked. "Still, there's no reason to get all horny on me."

Jazz just stared at the medic for a good ten seconds before grinning wide and slapping Ratchet's shoulder lightly with another honk.


	7. Transforming

There were certain things that everyone took for granted, and that included robots. Breathing, or circulating oxygen, the ability to see, hear, talk, touch. Taste even. Or transform.

Jazz had been stuck in car mode for close to a week and was quickly growing tired of it. Then again, he'd quickly grown tired of it the first day. The reason he couldn't transform was because there was a bar torqued up over one of his tires...which was, of course, his own fault. Under cover, new paint job, new bash kit, almost unrecognizable as the Porsche he was and he'd managed to slag everything up three days into the mission. He'd forgotten that he didn't have the same body shape and had ended up in a fender-bender which had mashed his right fender in, pinching his arm in place. Hence, the inability to transform.

Now, however, he was on his way back to the Ark, finally, looking forward to his usual lecture from Ratchet as the medic set everything in place so that he could finally, finally transform.

When he got there, however, everything was in chaos. The mountain was proving unstable and during an earthquake, three or four mechs had gotten hit by falling stalactites … which included Ratchet. First Aid was currently working hard on keeping the medic stable, while Wheeljack, Hoist, Grapple and Pipes tended to everyone else. Jazz sat in the waiting room, in car mode, waiting patiently. He even gave his report to Prime, had a brief conversation with Prowl and got tanked up on low-grade, thanks to Sideswipe. Still, he was stuck. Stuck stuck stuck.

By the time First Aid had gotten Ratchet stabilized the poor mech was nearly falling down with exhaustion. Jazz, of course, told him to go get some rest. He'd hold, after all...it wasn't life threatening. Just annoying.

Wheeljack was the one who finally got around to checking him out. "Good thing you didn't try an' force it," the weary engineer muttered as he reached in and popped the fender back into place after removing the damaged parts. "Woulda severed the energon line goin' to your processor."

"See, I knew there was a reason I put up with this for so long," Jazz replied, chuckling softly. "Got it fixed?"

"Just a sec," Wheeljack replied, then drew back with a nod. "There. Go ahead Jazz, have a good stretch."

Arms rotated out, he pushed against the floor with his hands, his doorwings snapped into place and his feet sprang free of his rear wheel wells. His hood folded down, the piece of metal guarding his head slid into subspace and he sighed, putting both hands behind his back to ease the kinks out. "Oh glory be Primus," he muttered, "but that feels good. Thanks, 'Jack."

"No problem, Jazz," the engineer replied. "Go get some rest."

"You got it."


	8. Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entry Word: excited  
> Function: adjective  
> Text: being in a state of increased activity or agitation. _Excited_ trading on the stock exchange followed in the wake of the favorable economic report.

The salsa pounded in his audios, demanding his body move, as all music did. But for that particular dance, one needed a partner. Frustration was in his every movement, every pound of his feet on the floor spoke the emotions he didn't dare ever voice. Longing caused his hips to sway, he slipped into a hip-hop stomp, falling forward onto his hands as if to transform. Instead, he pushed up, clapped, slammed both hands against the ground to the beat, pushing against the floor with first one hand, then the other, almost damaging his palms with the force of his blows.

One, two, oneone two. He propped himself up on his hands, slammed his feet together, and spread them before letting them fall. Clap, land, right hand, tap tap, left hand, slam. Horizontal spin left, clap clap, left hand slam, right hand slam. Flip up, twist, spin, right foot left foot right foot left foot, each foot down with such force he could feel the shocks in his shoulders.

The music was happy, his movements were anything but. If anyone asked when he was done, he'd shrug, and laugh, saying he'd needed to get out some restlessness. He dropped to his hands and toes again, stood on his hands, sunk to spin on his shoulders, chin tucked into his chest. Rolling onto his back he flipped to his feet, slammed his feet down and paused as the song ended. But only momentarily. He kept moving, sliding across the floor, his feet almost a blur as he tapped viciously. Quick quick quick, faster faster faster keep the manic energy up up up---

_Detapitatapitatapita. Slamslamslam. Stomp taptaptap stomp taptap stomp. Taptaptap. Spin clapclap make the rhythm, make the music, stompstomp, slamslam. Make it all because if you don't make it it won't happen, titatapitatapita stomp slide stomp stomp Taptaptatatatataptaptap stomp **stomp STOM*--**_

Ow.

Jazz winced as something gave in his leg. Well, serve him right for hitting the ground so hard. Still, the pain shocked him back to his senses and he laughed, shaking his head as he limped toward the exit to the gym.

"That was pretty impressive," a voice said, and Jazz started slightly, looking up.

"Hey, Sunny!" He flashed the Lamborghini a relaxed and happy grin.

"What's wrong, Jazz?" The yellow twin asked, arms crossed over his chest. The red twin was nowhere to be seen.

"Nothin'," Jazz replied with a shrug. "Just dancin'."

"That wasn't 'dancing', Jazz, that was--"

"Sunny?"

Sunstreaker gave Jazz a look. "Yeah Jazz?"

"Let it go, m'mech." The Porsche gave a look right back, and an understanding flew between the two mechs. Sunny pursed his lips slightly, then nodded and moved aside to let Jazz pass.

"Go see Ratchet. That knee looks painful."

"Thanks, Sunny."


	9. Reading

A good book was something to treasure. Something you taped the cover together for over and over, something you pressed upon friends then demanded back, just so you could read it for the hundredth time.

Jazz had never been one for reading. Particularity since human books were so short and since he could barely hold them, they were so small.

Still, this one had caught his attention. He had to have read it a hundred times. He had it in his memory banks, but deleted it after every time, just so he could read it again and not know the ending. He kept a copy on reserve in a pad on his pocket, so he could bring it out and browse through whenever he wanted to. A way to stave off that ever-looming and massively frightening space called boredom. He'd forced it on just about all of the Autobots, though none of them had attached to it like he had. They'd agreed that it was decent enough, though they didn't understand _why_ Jazz was so enamored with the text spread out on it's pages.

He tracked down everything else by that particular author and read each book as slowly as he could manage, captivated by the different worlds and the stories between the covers. But none of them delighted him like the first one, none of them moved him to read them over and over again.

A series of events occurred, including an attack and a mission, during which he misplaced his copy of the book, and actually completely forgot about it. It was his way, after all, and the war fed in strange ways.

Jazz never knew who put the pad on his desk close to a decade later, but as soon as he picked it up, he was captivated once again.

He curled up in a corner of the lounge, with his book and a mug of warm energon and enjoyed both, before subspacing the pad for another day.


	10. Dancing

One, two, one two three four.

The dance was meant for two, but he could do it easily enough by himself. He slid in, spun, dipped back, and on a whim, gracefully fell backwards into a handstand. Allowing his body to complete the movement, he was on his feet again, to weave gracefully into the next step, each shift as improvised as it was practiced.

He loved to dance. He loved the freedom, the power, the fact that every single decision, every advance or retreat, every gesture, was his own. He decided whether he was going to dip, or slide. Whether he was going to let the moment pass, or flow with the demands even a simple rhythm made upon his body. In this three and a half minutes, he controlled everything about his world.

The song ended, he passed from the euphoria of masquerade back into the real world...and smiled.


	11. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Shadows AU.

"I want to be elsewhere," he murmured as he walked down the street, cold wind chilling him to the spark. "I want to be anywhere but here. I want to be--" the young mech stopped short, staring across the street at a couple of mechs, one of whom had his hand on the other's shoulder.

They looked far too similar to be anything but creator and sparkling; their body language wasn't close enough for conjunx endura. Jazz couldn't tell which was which but at the moment, he hardly cared. They were laughing, one gesturing as the other shook his head, unable to speak with his mirth. The two were clearly simply enjoying the night, not needing anything but the company of the other and happily forging the approval of those around them. Jazz's spark clenched with envy and he began to drift casually closer, wanting to capture some of the bleed-off from their cheerful auras--

"Hey, get outta the road, idiot!"

He jerked, backing quickly onto the sidewalk, grinning an apology to the mech who had nearly run him over. Quickly he turned and continued on his way, chuckling softly. He had a job to finish and had already compromised himself enough. Jazz melted back into the crowd, now ignoring the pair of sparklet and creator. He still wanted to be someplace warmer, somewhere safer, but now he knew there was only one place he truly wished to be.

_I miss you, Forte..._


	12. Turned On

A shiver threatened to break the silence as as fingers caressed armor. The touch was simple, discreet and didn't last long, just long enough to set circuits on edge. A hand clenched, optics dimmed slightly before they brightened again.

"Insatiable creature."

The whisper was low and missed by all but who it was directed at. Said party flashed a wicked grin one moment and smoothly answered an inquiry from an outside source the next.

A head shook slightly a soft sigh was had and attention was returned to the proper focus. The other gave a barely discernible chuckle.


	13. Caring

"Easy, mech, easy," Jazz murmured as he held the young mech's fuel lines together with his fingers. "Easy, just relax. You're in a medical transport."

The mech stared at him in bewilderment, his ruby optics finding the Autobot symbol on Jazz's chest. "Wh--" he gasped, "why...?"

"Don't try an' speak," Jazz murmured softly, with a gentle smile. "You'll make the damage worse." The agent sat back, his fingers still holding that crucial line together. "As for why, well, yer young. I wasn't about t'leave you out there dyin' 'cause you wear purple an' I wear red. Wouldn't be right. An' now, youngmech, now you gotta choice. You can go back t'those who shot you in the back an' left you t'die, or you can join us. Or you can turn neutral. Don't matter. But you got the choice."

The mech's optics asked the question again, though this time he didn't try and speak. Just as Jazz opened his mouth to answer, the transport stopped and Ratchet reached in, shaking his head when he saw the damage the young mech had. "You can't care about all of them, Jazz, it'll break you," the medic growled. Jazz just shrugged with a grin.

"Someone cared enough t'get me on the right path," he replied, helping get the nameless mech onto a stretcher. "Who knows? Maybe I can do the same for some other poor mech."

Ratchet merely gave a tired grunt and strode away, shaking his head. "You're crazy."


	14. On Their Knees

While Jazz had his pride, there were certain things that could only be done on one's knees. Anything that had to do with the Japanese, for example. Well.  Most anything.  Jazz liked the Japanese. They knew how to have fun, and how to work hard, all in the same day. Kinda like him.

But now wasn't the time for karaoke. Now was the time for being on one's knees, well, knee, as the other foot was still firmly planted on the ground, in another mech's quarters.

"This is _so_ dumb."

"Shut up! Say it, Jazz. I want to hear you say it."

Jazz smirked at Sunstreaker; Jazz really got a kick out of Sideswipe's little 'passphrase', which just made the golden twin more surly. He looked up at the red twin and grinned, his visor sparkling with mischief.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."


	15. Obedient

"Stay right where you are."

The calm voice in his audio startled Jazz enough for him to freeze. He carefully folded his doorwings flush against his back, feeling incredibly exposed despite the movement.

"Don't move," the voice murmured, this time in his other audio. The spy felt like asking if he could breathe, but knew the situation was far too dire for jokes. The wrong word could distract Prowl to the point of disaster. Surely he could remain perfectly still for a few minutes...in his job, so much depended on it, least of all his life.

"This is the hardest part," Prowl breathed, voice tight with concentration. "Just a few more moments and you will be in the clear."

"Prowl," Jazz whispered, not even moving his lips.

"Don't..." Prowl insisted.

"My nose itches."

"Don't you dare--"

He couldn't help it. The sneeze was small, but it still caused Prowl to sit back and sigh in exasperation.

"Can you not hold still for two minutes?"

"Apparently not," Jazz replied ruefully, as he viewed the mess he'd made of Prowl's attempt to repair his paint.

"We'll just have to start over," Prowl stated, getting out the paint thinner. "This time," the tactician added darkly, _"don't move."_


	16. Dominant

_Alright,_ the Porsche thought, grinning to himself. _Pop music. Annoyingly cheerful pop music that sticks in the mind. Time for some psychological warfare...Spice Girls? Naw, used it too much. Wanna save Aqua for another time...mmm...Atomic Kitten'll do nicely._

Jazz folded himself into one of his favorite blind spots and shut off his visor, casting his consciousness up into the tight band waves that served as the Decepticon communication network. Slipping in like a wraith, he snaked (these humans and their adjectives, so deliciously descriptive, another part of his mind mused, chortling) his way along the cyber-ways, seemingly nothing more than a slight bit of reflective static. A wave of brief interference, random, patternless. If anyone noticed before the second glance he was gone, using the transmissions the same way Powerglide used thermals to soar through the atmosphere. Next to Blaster, there was no one better at this...and the only reason why Blaster was better was because the host was built for it. Jazz, however, had a grace that Blaster only wished to emulate...a grace that he turned to everything from cyber-surfing to walking.

And then, he was on the edge. He knew this area well...intimately, almost. Smiling, an expression wholly without malice, he skirted the darkness, bowing to it with respect. The nether was something any hacker knew...a black hole of seductive pleasure, one wrong step and a consciousness would be lost forever.

Jazz planned on throwing Soundwave into the pit the first chance he got.

Once past the nether, he skied down a smoke-gray mountain of degraded packets, skated over an expanse of iron nothing and slid to a stop, viewing the obstacle course in front of him. It looked like a forest, one of the old crystal and living chrome forests that used to be on Cybertron before the war. He folded his hands behind him and pushed himself backward on the 'ice' with a slight nudge, floating back with a soft sliding motion. Thinking, he glided on one foot for a while, leaving a very slight trail that weaved and circled, never in the same way twice.

**Jazz?**

The voice caused him to raise his head, coming to a stand-still instantly. A figure was standing at the edge of the ice, on the firm frost blue ground. Warily, he edged forward until he recognized the form, which caused him to toss his head in a movement he'd picked up from the humans; 'rolling' his optics. "Fraggin' smelter, mech, you scared the slag outta me."

**Sorry.** The figure trotted forward, revealing itself to be a slightly blurry four-legged form. It looked mostly like a turbo-pup and was the size of one too-- which was to say that it was slightly larger than a draft horse.

"What're you doin' so far out?" Jazz asked softly, gliding over to drop to one knee beside Roller, scratching behind one of the ill-defined ears. "You shouldn't go wanderin'...Op'd be lost without you."

**Look for you,** the small bit of Optimus Prime's consciousness replied. **Need you home.**

"Tell Op that I'll be back soon," Jazz said, chucking the pup under his chin gently. "I gotta plant a seed."

**What seed?** Roller asked, tilting his head curiously, expression turning eager.

"You can't follow me," Jazz warned, knowing what the pup wanted. "It's too dangerous. You could hurt Op. We'll play later, okay?"

Roller jerked back, brow crinkling before he nodded. **Come soon,** he urged before turning and trotting back the way he came, only looking over a smudged shoulder once. Jazz watched until he disappeared, then stood and looked back toward the forest, watching to make sure it was still empty.

Fortunately, it still looked to be, but looks could be deceiving, particularly here. He stretched his arms behind his back, spun a few more times on the ice and made a wide circle, gaining speed as he went. By the time he reached the edge of the silver forest he was a veritable blur of movement, unfurling wings from his back as his form shifted into one he'd only picked up since they'd woken from the crash.

The waves were mind over matter, Jazz knew well. The surprisingly organic bird form he took now was small and quick, able to dodge the sudden appearance of Ravage's hungry jaws with a flick of his tail and primaries. The motion sent him into Laserbeak's talons, but he shifted his tail again, twisting it hard to send himself into a spin that caused the vulture's claws to snap on empty air. There were four of them, one of him.

They never stood a chance.

In the air, he was vulnerable to Frenzy and Laserbeak. On the ground, to Ravage and Rumble. The two ground-bound Cassetticons were more of a danger to him; his audios were built to withstand the sonic blasts Frenzy could unleash and he was far more graceful in the air than the bulky and angular Laserbeak. The poor creature had no imagination and that was his downfall. Jazz swooped around, maneuvering between the two Decepticons and collapsing his wings after Frenzy let out a screech but before the shock waves hit, free-falling just enough so that the blast hit Laserbeak instead of Jazz. The vulture shrieked and fell, crashing into the trees below with a painful crunch.

Jazz shot forward, jets extending from beneath his wings as he banked to gain altitude. Once he was high enough, the jets folded back, one hand reached into his subspace pocket and, with an effort, he pulled a small packet from his subspace pocket in the real world. It appeared in his hands in the mindscape playing faint music and as soon as he had a firm grip, he dove, letting the gravity of the place pull him toward a bright, shining lake in the middle of a clearing in the forest.

The package landed with a slight ripple and as it sunk from sight, he tilted his wings, throwing himself at the sky with all the speed built from the drop. He could see the world crystallizing around him; Soundwave was aware of his presence. A shield leapt from the forest, thick pearlesque panels leapfrogging up from the ground almost faster than Jazz could go, even with the jets going at full blast. The black and white growled to himself and willed himself to go faster, escaping with only a few feathers lost.


	17. Naive

"It's...so small," Jazz whispered, reaching a finger out but stopping just before touching.

"You've never seen one?" The tired woman asked with a smile. Jazz shook his head expression awed.

"I...no...I mean," Jazz laughed a bit. "I'm never like this. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"It's okay," the woman replied, her smile widening. "My son had just the same reaction."

"How did you...I mean...?"

She laughed. "She grew in here," she replied, placing a hand on her lower stomach.

Jazz blinked. "...I'm sorry, ma'am, but unless you've got space-bendin' abilities, that little in your arms ain't gonna fit in your belly."

"She did, I promise."


	18. Drinking

Energon. Oh Primus, energon. It could make you sick, it could lift you up or bring you down...soothe you when you'd had a long day, energize you when you had a ways to go yet. Food, drink, narcotic, all in one.

Jazz was currently concocting a ballad to energon. He didn't have very much, only a couple of lines, but he was sure it would get longer as things progressed. Why was he concocting a ballad to fuel? Simple. He hadn't had any in _far_ too long and he was now huddled around a steaming cup of the very best low-grade the Ark had to offer.

Sunstreaker was eying him from across the table. "You look unwholesomely happy about having that," the yellow twin said with a smirk.

"Hey man," Jazz replied, reaching up to brush some lingering snow from his shoulders before taking a sip of the energon and shivering as he felt it move through his fuel systems. He took another sip before continuing. "If you'd risked your pristine California Poppy finish out there in that blizzard for as long as I did, you'd be just as happy for energon as I am."

"California Poppies are _orange_ not _gold_ ," Sunstreaker huffed, causing his twin to burst out laughing. Jazz merely grinned and continued sipping his energon.


	19. Greedy

"I thought someone was raiding my stores of silicon...never thought it'd be you. Or that I'd catch you at it."

Jazz turned, swallowing his current mouthful. "You're always gettin' after me t'have more...so now I am."

"One, you coulda asked, two, why're you having it at all?" Wheeljack crossed his arms over his chest. "I seem to remember you protestin' against it on many occasions, and I quote, "I hate the stuff worse'n oil"."

"C'mon, 'Jack--"

"Don't you 'c'mon 'Jack' me, pal," the engineer said, a grin clear in his voice.

"Ah...you're just sore 'cause me takin' it means you don't get t'have as much," Jazz shot back, grinning right back.

The engineer shook his head with a chuckle, moving over to pretend to whack Jazz on the back of the helm, though both mechs knew he would miss by far. Sure enough, Jazz ducked and Wheeljack's hand whiffed through empty air.

"Go get'cher silicon from medical like everyone else and leave my stores alone, greedy. Primus, you're more like a sparkling every solar, gettin' into things you shouldn't."

"Gettin' into things I shouldn't is my job," Jazz replied, snagging one last wafer before Wheeljack moved the stack out of his reach. "Besides, shouldn't I be less an' less like a sparklet every day?"

"Exactly my point," the engineer replied with a verbal smirk. "Get, you, unlike some mechs, I've got work to do."

"Which would be my cue to leave," Jazz said, folding his hands behind his head as he moved for the door. "See ya."


	20. Daring

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the canyon and transformed, looking back at the Seekers that had been trailing him since Kaon. With a few muttered curses, he shook his head and focused, his internal computer spitting out the width of the gorge and the probability that he'd make it.

The agent shook his head, clearing his HUD. Why did his internal computer keep displaying probability stats? He'd de-programmed it a million times not to. He sighed and marked it on the long list of Things To Do When I Get Home. Number one was Molest Prowl. Number two was Hide From Ratchet.

Jazz pretty much expected to fail number two. No matter where he went or what he tried, Ratchet always caught up to him. It was eerie. Then again, Prowl probably waited until he was asleep and reported to the medic.

_Sigh_. Oh well.

Bringing his thoughts back to the current state of things, Jazz examined the side of the gaping canyon separating himself from his bolt-hole. The bridge had been utterly demolished. It didn't take a smart mech to figure out who'd done it. Glancing back once more, Jazz made up his mind.

He had no choice. He transformed, went back the way he came until he figured he'd have enough of a start. He paused, hardened his resolve, gunned it and leaped.


	21. Exploring

One of the hardest things about being on a planet where the size of the primary life form was only as high as your shin was that the planet itself sized itself to those creatures. Or so they liked to think. So many things that they took for granted were constantly underfoot for those larger than they were, just as things that were taken for granted by cats were constantly underfoot for humans.

The Autobots and Decepticons were constantly being blamed for the marks they left on the scenery. Which Hound often complained about as well, but Jazz just shook his head over. "Hound," he would say, "Primus, mech, these environmentalists you're hangin' out with, so what do they do when faced with th' fact that their species has pretty much stamped over an' mucked with every inch o' this 'pristine' planet o' theirs?"

Hound would argue back, and a good time was generally had by all. But they both knew that Jazz's point remained.

One of Jazz's human friends was a real nature buff. He sometimes took Jazz out to the remotest bits of scenery that he could find and just crouch quietly, seemingly drinking in the peace. Jazz would let him, then slip off for a while to do a bit of exploring on his own. The Porsche, while not as much of a fanatic as Hound or his human friend, enjoyed marveling at the fact that, as tall as he was, the trees in some places, towered over him by three or four times. Some of them would be on a level with Skyfire, he mused.

Returning home was always an adventure as well, sharing quiet conversations with the human in his cab, and Hound, if the jeep had come.

No matter how you looked at it, they all agreed, over engex and beer, the Earth was a spectacular place.


	22. At The Beach

"Jazz."

"Hm?" The sound was peaceful and drawn out. Sideswipe could almost see it glittering in golden notes--

That was _it_ , he was never having Ratchet's moonshine again. The Lamborghini shook his head. "I thought you hated the beach."

"I do."

"I thought you groaned and grumped and called Prime a slave driver when he put you on this assignment."

"I did." There was a pause in which Jazz shifted his feet slightly, so they weren't in the water anymore. "How's that workin' out for ya, anyway?"

"What?" Sideswipe sat and immediately wished he hadn't as sand trickled into places that it really shouldn't be.

"That whole 'thinkin'' thing."

"Not as well as I'd hoped."

Jazz made a noise that could have been contributed to thoughtful had it not had smart-alec shades. "I am perfectly an' utterly miserable, can't you tell?"

"Hmph," the scarlet warrior replied, rubbing his head. "It's too bright out here."

"Poor thing." Jazz's tone was completely devoid of sympathy. "Sideswipe," he said a few minutes later.

"What?"

"Enjoy yourself."

"Is that an order?" Sideswipe grumped, his head renewing in it's gleeful pounding.

"Yes."


	23. Bath Time

Most people sing badly in the shower, but most people aren't Jazz.

Then again, Jazz not only sang in the shower, he danced. Because you couldn't have singing without dancing.

"So, let me get this straight," Ratchet sighed, looking just shy of either reaching out to tear Jazz apart, or bursting into uncontrolable laughter. "You were dancing, in the washrack, when you slipped, and not only damaged your spinal relay, but put a nasty dent in the back of your helmet."

"Yup," Jazz said cheerfully, though the cleansing fluid he was still covered in was beginning to itch.

"I ... don't know whether to laugh or stick you in the brig for insanity," Ratchet replied finally, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"You could start by fixing him," Prowl sighed, as the tactician had been the one to find the saboteur. Jazz shot him a beaming smile, which Prowl returned with a glower. "After that, I'm taking him to Prime."

"I can see it now," Jazz said to no one, "I'm sittin' in the brig an' the 'con next to me goes, so what're you in for? An' I reply, drivin' the CMO and second in command o' the Autobots insane by slippin' in the washrack. He'd be terrified."

"Oh shut off your vocalizer before I shut it off for you," Ratchet snapped, setting to work. Prowl merely shook his head with a long suffering sigh.


	24. Disheveled

He was groggy. That almost never happened.

Prowl buried his face in his palm. "Jazz," he groaned, and it wasn't the good kind of groan, either. It was the exasperated kind. The tactician seemed to want to ask either 'what am I going to do with you?' or say 'I can't take you _anywhere_ ' but neither came out.

Jazz sat, braced on his hands, one leg bent while the other sprawled in a haphazard manner. "Mungunh?" he asked, seemingly unaware of the small dents and scuffs that peppered his frame. His expression was puzzled and mystified, as if he didn't understand how he'd come to be in the predicament he was in, either. He was the suave one, after all, and wasn't entirely accustomed to being in this sort of situation.

"You could have been killed," Prowl finished, bending to help the saboteur to his feet.

Jazz merely pulled a grin from his store of such expressions. "Heh."


	25. Exhausted

"Jazz."

Jazz swatted at the hand that was shaking him. "L'me'lone," he mumbled.

"Jazz, wake _up_."

"G'way."

Optimus sighed, shaking his head. "Jazz," he tried again, "wake up. Now."

Jazz groaned and his visor flickered. "What?"

"All the way," Optimus insisted. "Up, Jazz."

The black and white picked up his head, then set it down again as a wave of vertigo hit him. "No, down's good. I'm gonna stay down."

"Jazz, you are in the conference room."

Jazz carefully lifted his head again and looked around. "...oh slag."

"Yes," Optimus said tolerantly. "Did you get _any_ recharge last night?"

"Um," Jazz replied, sitting up slowly from where he was draped over the table.

"How much of the meeting do you remember?" Optimus asked, almost idly, as he helped Jazz to his feet. Jazz gave a sheepish grin.

"Not much. Sorry, Optimus." The agent stretched, then shook his head. "I'm gonna go t'quarters." He paused at the door. "An'...no, no sleep last night. Or the last three or four nights either."

Optimus turned, frowning. "Have a reason?"

"Yeah, my job."

Optimus shook his head as Jazz left. "Take a break," he called after him. Jazz just waved.


	26. Well-shagged

It was like basking in a warm energon bath, in the spring sun, with a ration and a half of his favorite energon. He wasn't overly cheerful, he didn't go around slapping fives or humming a tune...any more than usual. He was always humming, though, so that didn't matter. He was just supremely relaxed. Nothing could bother him today.

Which was good, because it was one of the worst days he'd had in a long, long time. To start it all off, he slept through his alarm, so woke up to Red Alert screaming at him through the comm. Then, the washrack decided to first, not work. Then, only work cold, and when he'd resigned himself to that, it suddenly went blisteringly hot, just as he stepped in. He suspected Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, until they both walked into the lounge covered in mud and looking just about as distempered as they could get without punching someone's face in.

So they apparently hadn't been the ones and no one else would dare prank the prank master.

He didn't have a chance to finish his morning ration, because Prime called an emergency meeting. He twisted his knee trying not to step on a human who had been wandering around in one of the areas that he wasn't supposed to have to watch his feet. He blew a tire on his patrol, which meant that not only did he have to walk back, but he had lost control and hit a tree as well.

Prowl was in San Francisco, the engex dispenser was broken and Bluestreak had a panic attack, which meant that Jazz spent close to three hours calming the poor mech down.

Still, even through all that, he had a small smile on his face. When he finally made it back to the Lounge at just about three am, with a prospect of only two hours recharge before his next shift in the monitor room, Ratchet glanced up sourly from his mid-grade and sighed. "I'm not even gonna ask," he grumbled, as Jazz slid in next to him.

Jazz chuckled and sipped his energon, deciding to just stay up and catch a nap between the monitor shift and his patrol the next afternoon. "C'mon, Ratch," he soothed, "what're you doin' down here when you could be back home, relaxin'?"

"I know your brand of relaxed," the medic replied, "and unfortunately it doesn't come in a bottle."

"True, true," Jazz murmured, leaning back and brushing a bit of black paint off from where it shouldn't have been.


	27. Kick-ass

There was no time to think. Well, there was, but it wasn't advisable. Couplings. He had to hit their couplings, keep them from merging because if they merged, he was very dead. Spin, shoot, twist, shoot, flip, shoot three more times.

It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab. _Things hadn't been simple since they'd gotten to this blasted planet--_

There was that thinking thing again. Dangerous stuff.

He'd canvased the place for days. No one had gone in or out. No radio signals, no indication of any kind that the place was guarded. So he had picked the lock waltzed in and--

Constructicons. Playing cards, his over active mind told him.

From that moment, it became the old game of who could shoot who first.

He needed to get back to the door. If he could make the door he could escape. If he could escape, he could transform and they'd never catch him. He was in trouble if they merged. So, dodge, shoot, aim briefly, shoot, edge toward the door, shoot, _no one is ever gonna believe this,_ shoot.

One of them grunted and the rain of Things That Hurt If They Touched You paused. It was all Jazz needed. He hit the door running, stumbled, and transformed before he'd even cleared the dust from his optics.

A shout sounded from behind him, his engine roared and he was free.

"An' no one's ever gonna believe me," he laughed, watching Devistator destroy the warehouse in a fit of rage. He couldn't help it. He turned and headed back a bit, and waved until he got the combiners' attention. "Thanks for doin' my job for me!"

He was gone before Devistator could react.


	28. Playing With Kids

Bored. 

If it was one thing Jazz loathed the most, it was boredom. Diplomatic dinners were Prowl's thing, not his. And Prowl seemed to be having a pleasant time, chatting with the various hoity-toits that had been invited and their male or female companions. Jazz had attempted to strike up a conversation with one of the band members, only to get a disapproving look from Prowl, which he brushed off, but made his new friend nervous.

So he was bored. He sighed, then discreetly left, knowing Prowl would yell later. Well, Prowl could yell all he wanted. One's sanity was much more important than impressing a few suits, in Jazz's opinion.

"Hi."

He started, then looked down, moving his foot slightly to see the small human wearing a smaller version of what the larger humans were wearing inside. The boy looked distinctly uncomfortable in the formal wear.

Jazz knew how he felt.

"Hey."

"You looked bored." As bored as I was, was the implied ending. Jazz nodded and settled down into a crouch.

"Unbelievably so. Not my thing, shindigs like this."

"Not my thing either," the boy heaved a dramatic sigh. "I'm Tyler. Do you have any paper? I found some pencils, but I don't have anything to draw on."

"I'm Jazz. You like t'draw?" Jazz dug about in his subspace pocket and grinned when he realized he not only had paper, but he had a myriad of art supplies, too.

"Yeah. I want to work for Marvel when I grow up."

"Cool. Here, I got a bunch of stuff in my pocket." He laid everything out, promptly making a mess, but at Tyler's delighted reaction, stopped caring. He eased down onto his front and took some paper for himself, just doodling to pass the time.

"Jazz...what are you doing?"

Jazz blinked, then looked up and grinned at Prowl. "Drawing," he replied. "Right Tyler?"

"Yeah. You're good. Can I have that?" The boy pointed to what had turned into an intricate decoration of an Autobot symbol. Jazz nodded and wrote his name at the bottom before carefully rolling the, for the boy, huge paper up and handing it to his new friend.

"You're good too. Can I have that?" He asked, pointing to Tyler's drawing, which was actually a drawing of himself, and rather talented as well. Tyler nodded and did exactly as Jazz had done, writing his name at the bottom and rolling the drawing up before handing it to the Porsche. "Thanks," Jazz said with a grin. "You can have the art stuff too."

"Thanks," Tyler replied, in just as nonchalant a tone as Jazz had used. They grinned at each other, as Prowl looked on in puzzlement, before Jazz levered himself to his feet.

"We goin'?" Jazz asked, safely tucking the drawing into subspace. He'd frame it and put it on a wall in his quarters later, he'd already decided.

"We're free to go, yes," Prowl replied. "To think, all this time, to get you to behave, all I had to do was bring some crayons and a piece of paper."

"What can I say?" Jazz replied with a grin, not sheepish in the least, "I'm easily amused."


End file.
